I confess that I'm deeply concerned about exegetical theft—stealing someone's insights and interpretations with nary a nod or wink to their scholarship. I don't think a preacher needs to give props to Colin Brown every time he defines a word, but it certainly wouldn't hurt. If a preacher's theology of new creation has been profoundly shaped by N. T. Wright's Surprised by Hope, she ought to give it a hearty slap on the back in the presence of the church.

I'm just as deeply concerned about homiletical theft—stealing someone's ideas and imaginative renderings without a simple word of gracious thanks. I think one ought to have the respect to say—even if only in the church bulletin—that the goat on the stage is there because of Rob Bell. If you're looking at the many ways "good snakes become bad snakes," I think Haddon Robinson deserves a little credit.

But along with exegetical and homiletical theft, there's another act of sermonic thievery that must be considered. What about experiential theft? The preacher and the congregation have a working agreement that the preacher will spend at least a fair portion of his or her week allowing the cleansing fire of a given text to lick their feet in a holy act with the Refiner. Though the congregation is expected to do the same in their own right, it is the preacher who must stand before the audience and say, "I've suffered my way through this text all week long. I've learned. I've been made accountable. I've cried. I've bled. I've healed. And I've come to you this morning with a way forward for myself, and for us as a community." In essence: I have experienced the hot blast of this text, and I've returned with a word.

Most days we probably wouldn't choose to do it, but we did. Besides, we ask our people to have their noses and hearts in the Word, ready and willing for holy fire. Who are we to do otherwise ourselves? If both parties come out ashy but refined, a homiletical synergy emerges that's priceless. We mustn't ever settle for having some other preacher feel the burn of Divine fire at his or her feet so we can casually take their scorching experience and claim it as our own. There are few things more devastating to a Body than the preacher who stands behind a pulpit engaging in some grand act of blowing on what many know to be nothing more than perfectly manicured feet. Sooner or later the audience will tease out the truth—if only by whether or not the soles of your feet are adequately scarred.